


Put Your Dukes Up

by TheonSugden



Category: Coronation Street
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, Violence, a bit of homophobia, and religious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonSugden/pseuds/TheonSugden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt - "I got in a fist fight with the waiter who insulted you and now we are both banned from this restaurant."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Dukes Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this relationship, so apologies for any badness.

It was supposed to be the chicest new restaurant in the Manchester area.

Sean doubted that very much, but Eileen’s new fella Phelan knew the chef, and once Sean fought back the residual shudder he felt every time Phelan stared at him with those cold, dead eyes, he was ready to go.

He should have taken the cold, dead eyes as a hint.

“This place makes the Bistro seem like Xanadu,” Billy groused as he tugged at his collar - something Sean knew was a force of habit. 

“Let me do that,” Sean fussed, leaning over the table to fix Billy’s messy striped tie. He tugged the knot affectionately, planting a small kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek while he was there. 

He looked over to see a waiter, who looked like he was about 10 going on 40, glaring at them as he took another couple’s order. 

Sean had seen that type of glare before and he usually had a good guess where it was coming from.

His burning curiosity was in full on flame mode when the middle-aged youth stomped over to their table, slicked-back hair, snarl and all.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked, hands stuck in his trouser pockets, blue waistcoast puffed out, like something from an old Gene Kelly film.

“We’re at a table, I think...unless you know something we don’t, cock.” 

“I’m not a cock,” the waiter sneered contemptuously. 

“I can tell that from here,” Sean snapped, staring at the waiter’s trouser crotch for emphasis.

Billy gave him a calming look - one they both knew wouldn’t work.

“We’re ready to give our order,” Billy said, softly.

Another sneer.

“I’m talking to the manager now.”

Sean gasped.

“I thought he was talking to us! He’s in two places at once! A legend in his own time!”

Sean was relieved when Billy clasped his hand. 

“I know I should calm down, but he’s a nasty little toerag and I bet he’s back there right now calling us every nasty little variation of ‘Hoover’ and ‘strange’ and ‘happy’ and ‘cigarette’ that he can think of.”

Billy squeezed.

“Why doncha throw some cold water on your face and I’ll ask for a new waiter. We don’t have to put up with this.” 

Sean was proud of Billy, because he knew at one time Billy would have put up with it, and worse. 

He reluctantly let Billy’s callused but comforting hand go, popping into the toilets to make sure he hadn’t popped a blood vessel.

The lighting gave him a migraine immediately - it flickered and flashed, full seizure style. He was sure he saw someone in the mirror reflection beside him who’d died in 1973. There was only one working stall, and only cold water. The whole setup reminded Sean of those hostel horror movies Jason used to make him watch when he and Jason were best mates and Jason wasn’t so sad and isolated all the time.

“I was supposed to get away from my troubles,” Sean trilled to himself, putting on a fresh coat of lip gloss to face the hostile world outside the toilet door.

When he did, Billy was nowhere to be found. He battled rising worries that Billy had been chopped up and put in the stew of the day until he saw his patient partner at a back table...near the fire exit. 

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed. “Let’s just go.”

As Billy stood, Sean could see the usual twinkle in his eyes had been dulled - he even looked as if he’d been crying.

“What did they do to you, my love?” Sean said, voice quavering.

Billy shook his head, trying to laugh. 

“He said we ‘weren’t hot enough’ for a good table.”

Sean scoffed.

“I knew Paris Hilton was desperate for work but this place is a stretch even for her.”

Billy forced out a chuckle.

“When I said everyone should be seen as they are in the eyes of God, he told me if I believed in God I was going to...how did he put it - ‘really, really burn in Hell.’” 

Sean could feel the red rising behind his eyes. Billy was the kindest person he’d ever known. He could tolerate someone being nasty to him, but not Billy. Ever.

As luck would - or would not - have it, the stomping scumbag walked by just as Sean’s juices were stewing. 

“Just who do you think you are?” Sean asked through a mask of dripping disdain, channeling every Hollywood diva he’d ever known.

The blue-vested brat laughed - laughed like Sean was something on his shoe - and pointed at Billy, who shrunk even further.

“Ask the old perv - he would’ve torn me trousers off if you’d been in there any longer.”

Billy was about to cry again, at the humiliation and degradation and so many other-ations from this vile little thing, and before Sean could stop himself, he went from Joan Crawford to John Wayne, punching the jumped-up germ right on his surgically sculpted nose. 

There were gasps and a few cheers in Sean’s ears as he shook his aching hand, grateful to Jason for teaching him how to throw a punch, but terrified as he remembered he still didn’t know how to do much after. 

Before he could see anything beyond a bleeding nose, Billy took him by his good hand and led him through the thankfully nearby fire exit. 

“Let’s run for it!” Billy said, light back in his eyes as they dashed for the tube. 

Sean stopped for his breath - and a quick call to Eileen and Phelan, who said he’d ‘take care of it’ (he supposed the creepy man was good for something). Phelan told him the management had he and Billy on "their list." Sean bit his tongue half-off rather than reply that he'd rather eat Ken Barlow's overdue library books than go there ever again. 

Once the burst of adrenaline fully wore of, he was half-expecting a blue vest and a busted nose and overly gelled hair to waft in on a cloud of rage and devour him. He almost wished for it - until his more cowardly impulses slowly washed back in.

As they sat on the tube, Billy was still smiling at him, and shaking his head. 

“Why are you so happy, Vicar?” Sean teased.

Billy responded with a quick kiss to his bruised knuckles.

“I’m happy because I never thought I’d find a man who’d protect me...”

His smile faded as the wrinkles around his eyes furrowed.

“Just don’t ever do that again.”

Sean cocked his head, putting up his fists in mock macho pose.

“I can’t make any promises, pet...not now that I’ve got hairs on me chest.”

Billy leaned over to kiss his ear.

“When we get home you’ll have to let me count every last one.”

Sean blushed. 

He looked forward to it.


End file.
